Nothing Left to Lose
by spiceandnice
Summary: [HB] It's Betty's 23rd birthday...and she'll cry if she wants to. In honor of my good friend Teri, and with much love for the IC chat girls. Please read and review, thanks.


**Disclaimer: **_Ugly Betty_ is the property of Silent H Productions, Reveille and Ventanarosa, and Touchstone Television. I have no claim to them, only to my written words.

**Author's Note: **A heartfelt dedication with full admiration to that other _**Birthday Girl. **_Sorry for the over schmaltz, I was listening to Matt Kearney's "Nothing Left to Lose" as I wrote this, and it subconsciously took the pen over.

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_Tick_.

The flavors of creamy indulgence exploding in her mouth.

_Tock._

The salty tears dampening the vibrant shreds of torn paper.

_Tick_.

The eerie stillness of a lonely home.

_Tock_.

The hollow emptiness of vacant eyes and a broken heart.

_Cuckoo. Cuckoo. Cuckoo. Cuckoo. Cuckoo. Cuckoo._

The antique clock mournfully noting another year's passing.

Growing up, Betty had loved the little cuckoo clock that welcomed family and visitors into the Suarez homestead. Her grandfather had carved it, and her father brought it from Mexico, and now she could enjoy its cheery song. But today, her birthday, she wanted to rip the bird from his perch and feed him to the neighborhood stray. Alas, the damn mechanical bird was her only company, so she let him be, mocking her isolation with his every chirp.

The family had tried to celebrate, but it quickly became obvious that they were destined to fail. It was just too soon to celebrate. Santos was still in the hospital in a coma, all but officially dead. Hilda went into a state of panic anytime she was away from his bedside—she did not want to miss anything, especially if it was her one chance to say goodbye. To add to the duress, Ignacio's absence was becoming increasingly felt with each passing day, and Justin was fading under the pressure of being the "man of the house". That left Betty to pick up the pieces. She had done so at first gratefully, almost happily; glad to have any distraction to keep her mind of…

_Henry._

Betty took a distracted bite of her Magnolia's chocolate raspberry cake. Hilda had made such an effort to get her one, only knowing it was her sister's favorite and not the ties it had to Henry, that Betty did not have the heart to appear crushed. So, she mustered her remaining strength, willed back the tears, and blew out the candles. Hilda and Justin had encouraged her to make a wish, to change their luck, but when she closed her eyes, she faced the inescapable truth: she had given up. She had nothing to wish for—it would be selfish to wish for what she secretly desired. And it would be pointless.

Because Henry was never coming back. And she had finally had come to terms with this. The pain was still there, of course, but every day it became a little less glaring and a tiny bit easier to pretend she was going to be okay. Two weeks had passed since she had let Henry go and back into the arms of Charlie. Did she regret it? Yes, a bit. Did she replay it in her head? Every day. Did she think she could change things? No. And it was this answer that stopped her from calling him. Even if the baby turned out to be Gabe Farkus', too much had happen between Henry and her. He had tried, she had tried, and nothing came of it. It just wasn't meant to be, not matter how much she hoped otherwise.

And so, she sat in dark, still, trying to black out the world and pain around her. Hilda and Justin had returned to the hospital, leaving that damn cuckoo bird to laugh at her. Feeling the serene calm that came from the outflow of her tears, she let her self escape, just for a second.

_What would I have wished for? For Henry, of course. No, I take that back. For US._

--knock-- --knock--

Betty froze as the pounding brought her back from her reverie. _It couldn't be._ Her breath grew shallow, as she gingerly made her way to the front door. Her hand froze midway to the handle, shaking in a combination of fear and unadulterated anticipation. Closing her eyes, willing herself to not raise her expectations any hire, she waited for the soft creaking to stop and the cool breeze on her face before she dared look in front of her.

A bouquet of pink Gerber daisies lay at her feet, welcoming her back to harsh reality. Sighing, Betty picked up the vase, and hugged it tightly to her frame. _Well, they do smell lovely. Dad must have gone to a lot of trouble to send them to me_.

Betty allowed herself to temporarily relinquish her sadness, and turned on the light to get a better look at her present. The flowers were an unusual shade of the most beautiful coral pink, and their smell was intoxicating. They were in high bloom, as each bloom threatened to swallow the other. There must have been...

_Eleven? Just my luck, even the florist has it in for me…_

Determined to not let her shortchanging ruin the gesture, Betty eagerly ripped open the card, desperate to read her father's soothing words.

_For the full dozen, see Sender._ _What Sender?_

Betty reread the card, puzzled. It was most definitely not her father who had written the card, it wasn't in his slant script. Besides, the message made no sense—she could not afford to fly down to Mexico, she had neither the funds nor the energy.

_Whatever, I give up. I'm going to turn in early. The earlier this day is over, the better_.

Throwing the card half-heartedly onto the coffee table, she turned to go dim the lights for when Hilda and Justin made their way home for the night. And that's when she saw it.

A plain, crisp, white standard size envelope. Lying in the middle of the floor, naked and exposed.

Figuring she must have dropped it earlier when she went to get the mail, Betty lazily ripped it open, praying it was not another bill collector demanding money the family didn't have.

_Just one more time, Betty. One LAST time. Close your eyes, hold your breath, and FLY._

Her eyes grew wide. It was undeniable, the perfectly written block letters. She recognized that handwriting even more than her own. With her breath still buried in her chest, she unfolded the paper completely, until it revealed even more. Specifically, a one-way ticket for a flight that left in four hours.

The next time the cuckoo chimed his song, he sang to empty air. The door had slammed shut long before.

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"Anything to drink, Miss?"

Betty gazed up dreamily and politely shook her head. She had settled into her first class seat, prepared but anxious for the long flight ahead of her. It was slowly starting to dawn on her she had left without telling Hilda or Justin where she was going, much less remembering to pack any clothes. She was pretty much on her own, save for some previous cargo she was tenderly clutching.

She had raced to JFK, throwing bills carelessly in the driver's face, pleading for him to drive faster and break any traffic laws necessary. She had the red eye to catch.

She had arrived at the ticket counter, breathless, but a ruddy glow painted across her cheeks.

"_Betty Suarez. " _

"_All right, Miss Suarez. Where are you going to today?"_

"_Tucson."_

She shifted slightly in her seat, basking in the warm feeling she got simply by reflecting on her final destination.

"_Ah, yes, Miss Suarez. We've been expecting you. This was left in our care to give to you should you happen to arrive."_

Another crisp white envelope. This one was thicker though and full of promise. And so, when she was sure everyone around her was asleep, Betty tenderly broke the seal, unfolded the note, caressed it smooth, and began to read.

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_Dearest Betty,_

_I'm a man of numbers, not of words. And for this I profusely apologize in advance, because I so desperately want to tell you all that you deserve to hear with biting clarity and eloquent turn of phrase. My hand is trembling with every point of pressure the pen lays because I know I'm writing the most important letter of my life. Because in this letter, I'm going to tell its reader that I have met the love of my life…and it's HER. _

_I'm sitting here, in my childhood room, sitting over my desk. I spent eighteen years in this room, eighteen glorious years filled with pillow fights, ghost stories, laughter, tears, and love. Now, sitting here alone drowning in my misery and thoughts of the impending future, I am painfully aware of the daunting challenge that faces me to create the same type of room for my child. I'm scared, Betty. I'm scared that I'll fail my child like my own father did with me. I'm scared that I'm about to bring an innocent baby into the world, a world in which his or her parents stare at each other as strangers. Loss and bitterness are not the first things a baby is supposed to know, but I can't help but fear that those very emotions, __my __emotions, will taint my baby's introduction to the world. Most of all, I am scared that I have lost you forever, Betty, and that I am destined to be lost, wandering life without you._

_So I am begging, praying really, that you come find me, Betty. Find me and hold on tight, so that we won't lose each other again. I know you think you are weak at times, that you are too cautious, too hesitant. You are wrong. You are strong, you are resilient, you are sharp, and you are a powerful woman. It is I who has been feeble—too timid to say what I wanted, to go with my gut… to tell you I loved you a long time ago. _

_And I do. I LOVE YOU, BETTY SUAREZ. __Madly, __deepl__y, __unconditionally__. I don't know why it took me so long to say it, and now that I have, I won't stop until my last breath is drawn. I guess I still had some growing up to do, you know how men are. Now more than ever I realize I have to grow up, to truly be a man. But part of being a man means knowing and fighting for what you want. You already knew this, though, and you told me so that day in the copy room. That was the happiest day of my life—the day you stood your ground and told me there you were, fighting for me. Well, I want YOU. And so here I am, fighting for you. I need you, Betty…you make me into a man I want to be. _

_I write this letter as a simple man. I can't offer you the world, and I can't guarantee you a lifetime of uninterrupted bliss. What I can offer you, however, is that I will spend my entire life trying to give you those things. There will be obstacles, of course. Much to my chagrin, Charlie will always be a part of my life. She will always be my first love, my first lover, and now, the mother of my first born. But I never understood the fuss of "firsts". To me, it's the "last" that matter, and I want you to be that for me Betty—the __last __woman I ever love, the __last__ woman I ever kiss, the__ last__ woman I ever make love to. I'm glad you're not my beginning, Betty, because now you can be the end._

_Some people say love is not enough. To those people, I say a heartfelt FUCK OFF. Love is always enough. It is the ultimate source of strength, power, and wisdom. Love has performed miracles, love has created life, and love has been worth dying over. Certainly our love is just as potent. We can do anything, EVERYTHING, as long as we tackle it __togethe__r. _

_Enough of the melancholy; today is the day of your birth. Today is a day of celebration because twenty-three years ago, our Father, the eternal Artist, sculpted a masterpiece and created perfection in the form of an angel. On this day, I get down on my knees as a humble man and give thanks. "Thank you" to your father and late mother, may she rest in peace, for bringing you into this world. "Thank you" to God for bringing you to me. And "Thank you" to you for, whatever may come of this letter, making me a better man and allowing me to love you._

_Te Quiero, Betty Suarez. Hasta los fines de tiempo._

_Yours Forever,_

_Henry _

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She saw him first.

He was pacing back and forth, adjusting his glasses, a habit that surfaced whenever he was nervous. Her chest grew tight. She hadn't realized just how much she had missed him.

He looked up finally. She could see him take a sharp breath. But after a few still pauses, he relaxed, his boyish grin revealing the pure joy of the moment.

It seemed like an eternity, but he made his way to her.

"Missing something?" Henry whispered, holding out the remaining daisy to complete her collection.

Betty sighed contently, and placed a loving hand on his, pulling him closer to her. She glanced briefly at the bloom, then deep into his eyes.

"Some _things_, actually."

And with that, she had said enough. Tugging strongly, he tumbled into her grasp. And they held onto for dear life, rocking gently, vowing to never let go.

"Happy birthday, Betty."

And with one gentle, tender kiss, Betty's wish had come true. A kiss, for once, full of promise and joy, mixed with muffled laughter and elated tears, a kiss that did not seem to end as they left hand-in-hand . Together.

Two underdogs ready to overtake the world.

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-Finis-


End file.
